


bloody, but unbowed

by you_idjits



Series: a new canon [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Stanford Era, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_idjits/pseuds/you_idjits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn’t know what to expect when he walks into the courtroom. But of all the possibilities, he would never have imagined this one: his brother, grinning like the devil, in the defendant’s chair.</p><p>Or, the one where Sam never goes to Jericho with Dean, but instead pursues law school and a life with Jess. Dean falls in love with a gas station attendant named Castiel. </p><p>Six years after they last saw one another, Sam and Dean meet again in a courtroom. A lot can change in six years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has four chapters. I've already completed it; have no fear of a hanging WIP. I'll be posting a new chapter every other day this week.
> 
> The story is fairly heavy on the Sam/Jess, since it's from Sam's perspective, and fairly heavy on the Dean/Cas, since, well, Dean and Cas. That said, it's predominantly a story about Sam and Dean. No undertones of Sam/Dean were implied or intended. This is about them mending bridges. This is about them relearning one another as adults.
> 
> Title from [Invictus](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/182194) by William Ernest Henley.

Sam doesn’t know what to expect when he walks into the courtroom. But of all the possibilities, he would never have imagined this one: his brother, grinning like the devil, in the defendant’s chair.

“Dean,” Sam says, the word lost in the tumult of the courtroom. His stomach feels suddenly, painfully twisted. It’s been six years, but Dean looks much the same – careless grin, restless hands. And Sam knows, in that moment, that his life is about to come apart at the seams.

Dean can’t be – he can’t be _here_ , not in Palo Alto. This is Sam’s home; he’s made a life for himself. Dean being here, in court, can only mean trouble.

Then Mr. McKelvie, Sam’s mentor and the point lawyer for the case, steps up and claps Sam on the shoulder. “Well, Winchester,” he says, “are you ready for your first day in a courtroom?”

And oh, God no, Sam isn’t ready for this. Dean means Dad and Dad means the demon and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t be pulled back into that life. Not when his own is just about to start.

Dean turns, just slightly, and their eyes lock. Dean’s smile falters. It’s slight, subtle, something no one save Sam would notice, but he does. Then Dean’s face hardens, he blinks twice, and turns away again without acknowledgment.

But– wait. Was this deliberate? Did Dean know Sam would be here, know Sam was working this case? That look – for a moment he looked just as surprised as Sam feels. Sam swallows, takes a heavy breath, and pushes forward.

His mentor reaches Dean first, extends a hand. “Brad McKelvie. I’ll be your defense attorney, Mr. Page.”

Dean reaches with both hands to shake. “Thank you, Mr. McKelvie. I’m James Page, though I guess you already know me.”

Sam snorts. Dean glances at him, licks his lips, and says, “There a problem?”

“No, just. That’s a new one, uh, Jimmy Page.”

Dean meets his gaze square-on. His eyes are flat, carefully so. His smile is so, so empty. “I don’t believe we’ve met. And you are?”

Sam is too stunned to speak. What is Dean doing? Does he seriously think he can get away with–

“This is one of my students at Stanford. He’ll be shadowing me for the case,” McKelvie says.

Dean glances at him, then back to Sam. “Stanford. Awesome. My little brother goes to Stanford.”

Sam clenches his fists. Whatever’s going on here, Dean’s being very careful about it. Which means maybe, just maybe, he’s not here for Sam. Maybe, just maybe, they can keep up the ruse a little longer.

“Sorry,” he says, and his hand stutters forward. “Sam Winchester. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you.”

They shake hands. Dean has a strong handshake; when they were kids, Bobby once took them aside and said, “Now, boys, you can always tell a person by their handshake, so make sure yours is a good one.”

Sam has known Dean for twenty-four years. He doesn’t need a handshake to prove himself.

And then Dean is dropping his hand, dropping his gaze. “Right, so, the trial. Think you can get me out of this one, sir?”

Sam had looked over the case himself this morning, before he knew Dean was the accused. Grave desecration, of this kind, is only a misdemeanor – at worst, a few months of jail time. But the case isn’t bad, and since Dean’s not in the system – not under this pseudonym, at least – the trial will be straightforward.

“I do,” McKelvie says. “A first offense is usually pardoned. You’ll be fined, certainly, but with character witnesses and a strong case we can probably get away with a warning. Mr. Winchester and I will take care of everything.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, and Sam thinks _oh_ , he hasn’t changed one bit.

“The first day in court is just general proceedings,” McKelvie explains. “They’ll go through your case quickly, and then we can really get to work. Mr. Page, I hope you’ll understand that as a public defender and part-time lecturer I have a lot on my plate. Mr. Winchester will do the preliminary interviews with you.”

“Fine by me,” Dean says, and he honest-to-God winks at Sam. Christ, will he ever grow up?

Sam stops that thought in its tracks. Five minutes in and he’s already falling into the same old patterns. He can’t do this, he can’t let Dean get to him. Dean is a client. That’s it.

The court proceedings drag. Sam takes notes, but he has trouble maintaining focus with his brother mere meters away.  Why is Dean here, why now? What the hell is he even doing in Palo Alto desecrating graves? Sounds like a vengeful spirit, but Sam reads the papers. He keeps track of – of crop failures and disappearances and animal attacks. He’d have known if there was a case here. There’s been nothing, not in the six years since he came to Stanford. Nothing worth investigating, at least. Nothing worth desecrating graves for.

At the end of the day, Mr. McKelvie takes them for the most painful taxi ride of Sam’s life, then leaves them together outside the law office. Dean rocks back and forth on his heels, stands on the curb and waves goodbye to McKelvie with a smile on his face. Sam just stares.

Then, “Looks like it’s just us now, Sammy.”

“Don’t,” Sam says. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s good to see you again,” Dean says, and he looks at Sam. There’s something in his eyes, something close to pride, and Sam tries hard not to think on it.

“Dean,” he says, rakes a hand through his hair.

“Hey now, it’s Jimmy. Jimmy Page. Or at least, that’s what was on the license they caught me with.”

He tries again. “Look, we can’t– I can’t do this. You can’t be here.”

Dean’s smile fades. He scuffs his feet against the pavement. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s just that–” Wait, what? Since when does Dean– and Sam can’t help himself, he says, “Who are you and what did you do with my asshole brother?”

“C’mon, Sam, I was just–”

“What are you – a shifter? Demon? Where’s my silver knife when I– damn, and I left my holy water in my other jacket.”

“Sam, you little shit, it’s really me,” Dean says, but they’re laughing now, and God, it’s easy to fall into this again.

Dean must be thinking the same thing. They sober up. “Why are you here, Dean?” Sam asks.

Dean stares at the fence across the street. “You want the truth?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nothing. Restless spirit. She’s gone now, I torched her bones, but that’s it.”

“That’s– but I read the newspapers, I mean, I haven’t seen–”

“Yeah, and why do you think that is?” There’s a frown tugging at the corner of Dean’s mouth, small and unusual for him. “I’ve been here for a couple of weeks, y’know, poking around. Got my suit and my badge, trying to keep things from hitting the papers. It’s good they didn’t catch me with that badge, or this would be a helluva lot worse.”

“Hang on, did you say _weeks_? You’ve been here weeks and you didn’t, I don’t know, pick up a phone?”

Dean laughs, something self-deprecating in it. “Come on, Sammy, why would I do that? I know you don’t wanna see me.”

Sam starts to protest, but Dean cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder. A woman, a stranger, passes by. Right, because they’re still on a public sidewalk.

“Let’s get inside,” Dean says, quiet.

San takes him into the office, into a room that locks from the inside – just in case. They sit across from each other with an old wooden desk between them. Sam takes out his yellow pad of paper. He started buying these freshman year, because that’s what lawyers did on TV.

“Of course I want to see you,” Sam says, without preamble. “It’s been years since I’ve heard from you.”

“Four,” Dean says. “And the last time I called, you said I shouldn’t do it again. Really encourages communication, Sammy.”

Sam digs his pen into the side of his leg. “You were drunk, and it was November 2. I was pissed. But four years is a long time, Dean.”

“Yeah? So’s six. You look good, Sam. Taller. You grew into that jawline.” He laughs. “Need a haircut, maybe.”

Sam sees the diversion for what it is, but he lets it slide. “Yeah. You look good too. The vengeful spirit, that’s… so you’re still, you know…”

“Hunting? Yeah. Not much has changed for me,” Dean says, but he glances off to the side when he says it. Sam’s played a lot of poker with Dean; he knows his tells. “What about you? Stanford Law School, huh, that’s something.”

But Sam knows he can’t do this. He has a job here. More importantly, he has a life here. The more Dean gets involved, the harder it’ll be to separate that life from this one. “We have to do this interview, Dean.”

There’s a pause, and Dean makes a face like he’s forgotten something.  He says, “Right. Right, of course. Fire away.”

So Sam looks down at his notepad, at the questions he prepared. His handwriting is neat, collected. That was from before he knew Dean would be his client. “Okay. So. Grave desecration. Did you know when you committed the crime that your actions were illegal, Mr. Page?” It feels wrong, so wrong. Too formal for them.

“Sure did,” Dean says, with a salacious smile.

“Dude. Come on. You’ll only make this harder on yourself.”

Dean’s eyes go wide. “What? Sam Winchester, lawyer-to-be, encouraging a client to lie on the stand? Shocking.”

“Dean,” Sam sighs, “we’re both liars, have been our whole lives. I’m trying to save your bacon here. Just go with it, okay?”

“Fine. I defer to your authority, little brother.”

And he does. Sam asks questions and writes answers and they keep it mostly professional. Until, finally: “What would help the case most,” Sam says, “are character witnesses. People who can vouch for you. Obviously I can’t get up there on the stand–”

“Yeah,” Dean cuts in, “can’t have your perfect college life ruined by the brother doing jailtime.”

“Dean,” Sam says. “Come on. Is there anyone who can? Anybody who knows you well enough to testify. Not Dad, not with his record–” he sees Dean flinch and makes a note to ask about it later, “but what about Bobby? Pastor Jim?”

Dean sits in silence for a long, long moment, eyes fixed on the grain of the table. Maybe he doesn’t have anybody. Oh, Dean, all these years and–

“Shit,” Dean says, sudden and harsh. He wipes a hand over his face. Says, more to himself than to Sam, “I’ll have to call him.”

“Him? Call who?”

“Cas,” says Dean. “My, uh, my friend.”

Sam’s never heard Dean nor Dad mention someone named Cas. “Sorry, again, _who_?”

“He lives in Idaho. I don’t know, I think he’d drive out if I asked him to.”

Okay, that’s… “Fine. That’s a start.” Sam writes down the name Cas, uncertainly. “Anyone else?”

Dean thinks further. “Ellen, maybe. Or Jo.”

“Um, okay. Three’s good. We’ll start with that. Do you want to call them now? Or at least, um, Cas? Here, I have my cell phone; you can–”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says. He dials a number without hesitation.

Sam leans back in his seat, watches his brother’s expression as the phone rings. A click, and then a gruff voice on the other side.

Dean: “Hey, hey, yeah. It’s me. Mhm. No, I’m fine, I just– don’t laugh, I know you’re gonna laugh, but I got arrested. You ass! I said you weren’t allowed to– fine. Yes, I’m fine. No, nothing big, just grave desecration. I’m, uh, I’m actually with Sam right now. Yeah. No, no I haven’t. Cas. Cas. Okay, look, he’s just, he’s working on my case. He says I need something like – will you just listen, Christ, for one second – character witnesses. I need character witnesses.” A pause. A long pause. Then, “Yes? Maybe. Yeah. And Ellen and Jo, I was thinking. Do you think you can– I mean, will Nora give you the days off? Okay. Yeah. Yeah. Thanks, Cas, I–” Dean swallows thickly. “See you in a couple of days, buddy.”

He closes the phone, sets it on the table between them.

“So this Cas, he’s coming?”

Dean drums his fingers, once, and then curls them. “Yeah.”

Sam wants to ask about it, wants to ask who this man is and what he means to Dean. Dean doesn’t make connections, not lasting ones. He never has. For him to now have people he can call, people who will drive from three states over at the drop of a hat, means something Sam has yet to understand. Dean has changed a lot in six years – not on the surface, maybe, but he has.

“Good,” Sam says. “That’s good.”

Silence settles. Dean pretends to be interested in the books on the desk. Sam clicks and unclicks his pen.

“I’m getting married,” he says, for lack of anything else to say. Dean looks up, first in surprise and then in delight. Genuine happiness, maybe, with the smile that cracks open his face.

“Married? You’re joking.”

“Am not. Five weeks from Thursday.” The tension in his muscles dissolves at just the thought of Jess.

“No way. Really? Sam, that’s–” Dean searches for the words, and Sam braces himself for a careless one-liner. “That’s good,” he settles on. “No, that’s great. Damn, does that make me happy.”

Oh– oh. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. My little brother’s getting married? I’m just hurt I didn’t get to be best man.”

The joke falls flat. Dean didn’t get an invitation. Sam didn’t even think to–

He remembers, early on in the process, coming to the realization that he’d have no guests for his side of the aisle. But Jess just kissed him and said, “We’ll have a small wedding. No aisles or anything,” and that had been that.

Sam thinks about trying to explain. Explain how hard the last six years have been, without Dean at his back. Explain how, when he first came to Stanford, everyone thought he was the paranoid scholarship kid with a thing for salt. Explain how he’d never been able to invite Jess home for Thanksgiving.

But Dean beats him to it, and says, “So, who’s the lucky lady?”

“Um,” Sam says, “Jess. Her name’s Jess. You can meet her if you like.” He says it before he thinks it through, because he’s embarrassed, but Dean can’t do that. Jess, she’s kind and innocent and– and good. Sam’s childhood was muddy and violent and he’s worked so, so hard to keep it from tainting her.

Maybe Dean picks up on that. “Thanks,” he says, “but I shouldn’t. When you- if you and McKelvie get me cleared, I should get back on the road. Things to do, monsters to gank. So it goes.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Silence again, but a little easier this time. Sam looks down to his notes. “We should keep moving. I have some more questions, and then we can be done. For the day.”

“Sounds good. I’ll call Ellen and Jo when I can get to my phone; it’s in the car. I don’t know their numbers.”

But he knew Cas’s. Sam thinks about that for a bit. Then, “The car? Do you mean–” He pauses, something like cautious hope in his throat. “Do you mean the Impala?”

Dean grins – really grins – at that. “Yeah, I’m still driving her. She runs smooth as always. Bet you’d want to see her again, huh?”

“Of course, but– hang on, when you were arrested–”

“No worries, dude. Stashed her a mile or so from the graveyard. Cops got nothing, far as I know, ‘cept my car keys. Got those back when I paid bail, so–”

“You paid bail?”

Dean laughs. “Well, Jimmy Page did.”

“You’ll get in trouble when they figure that out.”

“Hopefully you and Mr. Hot-shot Lawyer do your job, and I’ll be halfway to Idaho when they figure that out.”

“Right,” he says. “Well. McKelvie’s given me the rest of the day off. I was– well, I can’t–”

“I get it, I get it, you have plans.” Dean waves him off with a hand. “Let’s finish up here, and then you can go do whatever it is college kids do.”

Six years, Sam thinks. “Do you, um, need a place to stay?” he asks, because he feels he should. This is Dean.

“Nah, my motel room’s good for another week. You have fun.”

The trial isn’t until Thursday. “We should. Um. We should go out for drinks or something, before Thursday. Really, you know, catch up.”

Dean gives him a funny look, a calculating look. “Sure,” he says, like he’s testing the word out. “Sure.”

Sam nods, and Dean nods, and then they get back to work.


	2. 2

On Wednesday, Sam’s phone starts ringing in the middle of lunch with Jess. He glances at the screen and sees an unfamiliar number. Dean’s, it has to be. He leans over to kiss Jess on the cheek, excuses himself, and steps outside the restaurant.

“Dean. Hey.”

“Cas is an hour out. Figured you’d want to come meet him with me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I should– I’ll call McKelvie, just to let him know. Where do you want to meet?”

 “Me and him were gonna catch some lunch. You could come with, if–”

“No, that’s. I mean. I’m with Jess, right now. Eating lunch. So.”

A pause. “Okay, sure. Well, you can at least share the booth, yeah? Meet you in an hour.” Dean gives him the address – a local diner, popular among undergrads, and then hangs up. Brisk and professional, and something in it digs in Sam’s gut.

He’s distracted throughout lunch. He hasn’t told Jess, doesn’t think it’s safe – for himself or for Dean. Jess doesn’t– doesn’t know about Dean, doesn’t know about the life. They’ve been together for four years but Sam’s never felt ready. He couldn’t handle it if she, if she...

“You’re acting off today,” Jess says. “Something about you. Is it this case with Mr. McKelvie?”

“No, no,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’m just– stressed. I guess.”

She puts her hand over his, smoothes her thumb over his knuckles. “Sam. You’re doing great. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s the client. It’s complicated. He’s complicated. I don’t know how to– how to deal with him. With any of it.”

“I think,” she says with a smile, “that’s probably a common feeling among lawyers. The job isn’t easy, Sam, you knew it wouldn’t be.”

He nods. Squeezes her hand. “Thanks. I’ll figure it out. I have to meet him after lunch, with one of the character witnesses. Have to go over the procedure. I wish McKelvie could be there. That would make it so much less complicated.”

“You’ll be fine.”

She is too good for him – this brilliant, brave woman. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

She laughs, leaning back in her chair. God, what a good laugh. “You could stand to say it again.”

“Jessica Moore, you are the love of my life.” He’s joking, and she’s laughing, and they’re just two dumb college kids holding hands over a lunch table; but then again, he’s not really joking.

“Go,” she says. “Go prepare your lawyery things, or something. You’re too distracted for this.”

“You are the best fiancée ever.” He picks up the hand he’s holding to kiss it, right beside the engagement ring. Then he gets to his feet, slings his bag over his shoulder, and gets out of there as soon as possible.

It’s best to separate the Stanford life, his future with Jess, from the case. Just until Dean leaves town.

He gets to the diner early, because he’s nervous. Apparently Dean is too. He’s leaning against the outside of the Impala, foot tapping a nervous beat on the pavement, when Sam arrives.

“Hey,” Sam says, coming up on the opposite side of the car. He’s missed her, the sleek black finish and the dangerous glint of her mirrors. “You’ve taken good care of your baby, I see.”

Dean scoffs. “’Course I did. You want, I’ll take you out for a joyride later.”

The offer hangs in the air. Neither of them picks it up.

“Is Cas here yet?”

Dean shakes his head. “It’s Castiel, actually. Just so you know. Cas is just my nickname for him.”

“Your nickname.” Sam hesitates, drums his fingers once against the hood of the car. “Dean, who is this guy? I’ve never heard of him before, but now you want to call him as your primary character witness? Over _Bobby_?”

Dean’s shoulders go up to his ears. Sam knows he’s worrying the inside of his lip, an old habit of his from high school. “He’s just my friend, okay? Someone I met a couple years back. Like, three. Three and a half. I dunno.”

“Your best friend.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Something like that.”

“Is he a hunter?”

Dean looks up then, at something over Sam’s left shoulder. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” His face splits into a grin, the kind of spontaneous and unreserved grin Sam rarely sees.

He turns, and there’s a car pulling up two spots away – a beige Continental, 1978 maybe. The glare of the sun hits the window just right, making Sam shield his eyes.

Dean circles around the Impala, still smiling, and more or less runs to the driver’s side of the Continental. The driver – Cas, it must be – gets out, back to Sam, and immediately Dean throws his arms around him.

Huh. That’s new. Different.

They exchange words, quiet ones, and then finally Dean nods to Sam. Castiel turns.

He’s not what Sam expected, though Sam can’t place why. He’s maybe a few years older than Dean, in an ill-fitted trench coat and a backwards tie.

“Sam,” he says, and wow, okay, his voice is low. “Sam Winchester.”

Dean nudges him, and they come back to where Sam is standing. Cas offers a hand, which Sam takes. Good handshake.

“You must be Castiel.”

Dean’s smile has faded to something small and uncertain. Sam gets the weird feeling that Dean is looking for approval. Of what?

“I’m sorry,” Cas says. Dean looks at him in surprise. “On behalf of Dean, that is. He never intended to cause you distress by getting arrested in Palo Alto. He’s not trying to mess up your life. He’s also too stubborn to explain that himself.”

“Cas,” Dean says, and Sam decides he likes this guy already.

“I… get that,” he says. “And thank you for coming. Dean can use a friend like you in a time like this.”

There’s something that Sam misses. He can feel it. Cas squints and cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth like he wants to say something.

“Hey, hey, Mardukas,” Dean says, putting a hand on Cas’s arm. The change is immediate; Cas’s posture straightens, his face goes flat.

Oh. Sam sees that for what it is, even if he can’t make sense of it. So Dean has those kinds of codes with someone other than Sam now.

Sam doesn’t push it. He says, “Uh, so. Cas. I need to explain to you what the trial is going to look like.”

“Let’s get some food in him first,” Dean says. “You’ve been on the road since, what, six? Christ.”

So they get a booth, and Dean orders two bacon cheeseburgers. Sam doesn’t ask how he knows Cas’s order. Six years, and he’s not sure he has a right to ask. Dean’s life is his own now.

“Dean tells me ketchup is a vegetable,” Cas says to Sam, leaning forward like he’s sharing a secret.

“Damn right it is. Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, and winks at the waitress as she walks away. Cas shoots him a look. “What?”

Again, Sam can’t pick up on whatever passes between them. Cas grumbles, “Method acting, are we?”

Sam clears his throat. “So. The trial. Dean and I went over the major points yesterday. McKelvie will be doing most of the talking. I spoke with him this afternoon; he’d like to meet with both of you tonight. Dean, did you have any luck with, what were their names-”

“Ellen and Jo?” Dean shakes his head. “Couldn’t reach ‘em. Tried a couple of other folks.” He nudges Cas. “I even tried Hannah.”

“Hannah?”

“No kidding, right? She wanted to come, said she was too busy.”

“As usual,” Cas says, and they laugh.

Who the hell are all these people Sam doesn’t know? Dean was never any good at making friends, but it would seem in the last six years that’s changed. “Hannah. Is that, um, Castiel, is that your girlfriend?”

Dean laughs, hearty and openmouthed. Cas looks down at the table like he’s fighting a smile.

“She’s my sister,” he says. “She lives in Montana.”

“Oh. Right. Okay, so, that’s a no. Dean? Anyone who can come?”

“Yeah, calm down, Bobby said he’d take the first available flight. He also said hi, and that you should pick up a phone sometime.”

“Bobby. Right. That’s great.” Another person he has to pretend not to know at the trial. “Listen, Dean. I know Bobby can handle it, but… You know this is gonna require lying on the stand. To get you through. It means no slip-ups.”

Castiel is very carefully rearranging the sugar packets.

“What, you think Cas can’t do that?” The tips of Dean’s ears go red. “You’ll lie for me, won’t you, buddy?”

Castiel’s hands still. He looks up, looks Sam dead in the eye. “You can trust me,” he says. “I won’t slip up.”

Sam doesn’t know if that comforts him, but Dean relaxes. He slings an arm over the back of the booth, behind Cas’s shoulders.

“Come on. It’ll be fine, the judge’ll go easy on me, and Cas and I will be out of here by nightfall. You’ll get married and become a lawyer and we’ll never have to see each other again.”

“Dean, that’s not what I–”

“You’re getting married?”

Sam looks at Cas, who’s still looking at him. “Uh. Yeah, I am. Is that… important?”

Cas shakes his head. Christ, his eyes are blue. “No. Congratulations. I’m very happy for you.”

Sam leans back, uncomfortable with that though he doesn’t know why. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Cas, you’re being weird,” Dean says. The hand by Cas’s shoulder reaches up to tweak his ear. “Sam doesn’t know you yet, remember?”

Castiel looks at Dean, then back to Sam. “Excuse me. I’ve heard a lot about you, that’s all. Dean speaks very highly of you.”

Six years. Six years, and Dean still–

“All right, whatever. We done here?”

“Just a couple more things,” Sam says, and he goes through them as quickly as possible. Dean eats his cheeseburger, then picks off pieces of Cas’s. There’s an ease to their behavior around one another, a familiarity. Sam wasn’t sure at first, but now he gets it. Cas was the right person to call for this.

They finish lunch, and Sam finishes his questions. They make plans for the evening, when Sam will pick Dean and Cas up and take them back to the law office to meet with McKelvie. He’s supposed to escort them to the law offices, but he doesn’t have to be there. He doesn’t have to be there to watch his brother lie to his teacher.

Sam takes a deep breath. Tomorrow’s the trial. After that, Dean will be gone.


	3. 3

Sam goes to one of his afternoon classes, but lately he’s been unable to focus on schoolwork. With the wedding coming up, and the internship with McKelvie – and then, on top of all that, this case with Dean – he’s been pushing schoolwork to the sidelines. He keeps thinking about that guy, Castiel. There was something unsettling about him, something Sam can’t put his finger on. Or maybe it wasn’t Castiel, but the way Dean talked to him. The way Dean hugged him as soon as he stepped out of the car. Dean isn’t a hug-person.

Later in the evening, Sam goes to the motel where Dean is staying. The Continental and the Impala are parked side-by-side. He knocks on the door, just below the chipped gold paint of the room number.

There’s water running inside. Then, a muffled, “Just a minute!”

Dean answers, several eons later, with damp hair. He’s rolling up the sleeves on a fresh button-down. “Hey,” he says, “come on in.”

Sam steps inside. The room smells pungent, as all motel rooms do. There’s Dean’s army-green duffel at the foot of the bed. Clothes and empty burger wrappers litter every available surface. Salt on the windowsills, lore on the desk, guns on the bedside table. Oh, and he recognizes the ugly floral wallpaper that lined his childhood.

“Is Cas staying here too?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He glances at the bed. “Uh, we’re gonna get a cot.”

The shower’s still running. “I can come back later if you guys aren’t ready–”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Dean says, and marches over to the bathroom door. He knocks on it, hard. “Cas, come on, Sam’s out here waiting.”

“Screw you, Dean,” comes Cas’s voice, filtered faintly through the door.

“Cas!”

The water shuts off. Minutes later Cas comes out, no longer in the suit-and-tie getup from before but in a pair of jeans and a soft t-shirt.

A familiar t-shirt. Dean’s old Def Leppard t-shirt, in fact. “Hey, Dean, isn’t that yours?”

Dean looks where Sam’s pointing. “Seriously, Cas, you packed my clothes?”

“It was laundry day and I was in a rush to hit the road.” Cas pauses in front of the mirror to rake his fingers through wet hair, combing it off to the side. “Do you have a problem with me wearing your clothes?”

“Cas,” Dean says, voice strained.

“I’m ready,” says Cas, “let’s go.”

Sam is definitely missing something here.

The plan is to leave Cas and Dean with McKelvie for another round of trial prep. Dean insists on driving, but he says, “Hey, you should ride shotgun. It’ll be like old times.”

Sam glances at Cas, because he gets the feeling Cas has taken over that seat, but Cas is already sliding into the backseat. Okay, then. Sam gives Dean directions through Palo Alto, back to the law office, except– huh. Dean keeps anticipating the directions like he knows the streets already. It unsettles Sam.

Last summer, Jess went through a jigsaw puzzle phase, and she coerced Sam into doing this one 2500-piece monstrosity. Except, like fifty of the pieces were missing.

This, this feels like that.

The law office is on the Stanford Law School campus – not far from Sam’s apartment. He leaves Dean and Castiel at Mr. McKelvie’s door, and then dials Jess’s number.

“Hey,” she says, picking up on the third ring.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he says.

“What?”

“Let’s go somewhere. Do something. You and me, date night, right now.”

“Sam, I have an exam in Anatomy and Physiology tomorrow–”

“Yeah, screw that exam. Come on. My treat.”

Jess sighs dramatically. “Fine,” she says, and he knows she’s smiling, can picture the dimples in her cheeks and the twinkle in her eye. “Where are you?”

“The law office. Just dropped off the defendant for prep with McKelvie.”

“Mmm. I’ll come pick you up; I’m at the apartment. Gimme five?”

“Sure. Love you.” He closes the phone.

It’s been a long day.

Jess pulls up six minutes later, in her parents’ old Honda Civic. He gets in, leaning across the seat to press a hasty kiss to her cheek.

“What’s this about? We just did lunch,” Jess says. She turns to catch him in an actual kiss. For a few indulgent seconds, he curls his hands into her hair.

“It’s nothing,” he says, settling into his seat. “I just thought it’d be nice. Come on, let’s go crash some wild undergrad party.”

“Sam.”

“I’m kidding, I swear. Dinner? Somewhere nice.”

Jess turns the engine off. She presses her palms on the bar of the wheel. “Talk to me, Sam. You’re acting weird and I don’t know what’s wrong. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says.

She looks at him.

“It’s,” he says. “Okay. There’s. I mean. I can’t, I can’t talk about it right now.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

“I can’t.”

She turns away from him, to the window, and takes a deep breath. “Will you tell me soon?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“No.”

“Are you in danger?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t think so.” Always, he thinks. Since he was six months old.

“Can I do anything?”

Sam looks at the windows of the law office. His brother is in there right now. His brother is the Pied Piper of danger. Sam knows there’s something here, under the surface, that he can’t make sense of.

He needs to be here, with Jess. She is grounded, she is safe. He can trust her.

“You can let me take you out tonight,” Sam says.

Jess’s hands on the wheel relax. She starts the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is coming so late on Saturday. I was literally too busy today to get on the computer even once until now. Thank you all for patience. Also, sorry for the short chapter. Have to save the majority of the story for the final piece, which will be up on Monday.


	4. 4

The next time he sees Dean is at the trial. He and Jess go together in the morning. Jess straightens his tie in the car. She says, “You guys will win today,” and she kisses him.

Bobby is here. He introduces himself to Mr. McKelvie, eyes sliding over to Sam. Sam pretends not to be interested, but he’s aching to go over. Bobby looks so different in a suit and tie (trucker caps aren’t exactly court-appropriate). His grizzled beard has gone gray.

“This is one of my interns from Stanford Law,” McKelvie says, with a wide hand on Sam’s shoulders. “Sam, this is James Stewart. He’ll be a character witness on the stand today.” Sure. James Stewart. Sam wonders under which pseudonym Cas will be testifying.

“I know. De-” he takes a breath, “Mr. Page told me during prep that you’d be coming.”

“Good to meet you,” Bobby says. He doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes. “Said your name was Sam? Good name.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No, thank you. For saving Jimmy’s skin.”

“It’s my job.”

The corner of Bobby’s mouth quirks. He nods, then shuffles back to his seat beside Cas.

“I met with Mr. Stewart this morning when he came in,” says McKelvie. “He’s the right man for this.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I bet he is.”

They stand for the judge.

 

The trial is fast, faster than Sam anticipated. Nobody in the courtroom cares enough to draw it out; that’s how it always goes for cases like this. McKelvie works for the DA as a public service, which Sam thinks honorable for a man of his reputation. He takes on cases like this one, cases that aren’t worth his time. He puts in the work anyway. He kicks Dean’s charges in the ass.

Cas and Bobby are great on the stand – cool under pressure, feeding the judge exactly what he wants to hear. Even Sam’s not sure he can discern the truth from lies.

Bobby talks about Dean’s care for his car. Cas talks about Dean’s love of children, and about Dean’s commitment to the people around him.

Cas says, “Jimmy’s compass points north, though he might not always walk that way.”

It goes well. It goes really well. Dean gets let off with a fine and a warning. Jess lets out a cheer from the audience at the verdict, and Sam goes red. Except then Dean’s head swivels, and his eyes pass over Jess, and then he looks to Sam. _That her_? he mouths. Sam nods, minutely.

After the trial, after McKelvie leaves, Dean approaches Sam and Jess.

“Hey, Mr. Winchester,” Dean says, all fake formality. “This the lady you’ve been telling me about?”

“Hi, I’m Jess,” Jess says, sticking out a hand. “Sam tells me you desecrated a grave, but it wasn’t really all that bad.”

“It was for the greater good,” Dean says. He takes her hand, and his smile could probably light up the courtroom. “God, you are really pretty.”

Sam is going to sink into the floor. That’s it, he’s done for.

“Listen, it’s really nice to meet you,” Dean says. “I mean it. I–” And then he catches Sam’s eye and stops, suddenly, his mouth snapping shut. He looks Jess over one more time. “I wish you guys the best.”

And then he turns around, like he’s actually gonna _leave_ , and Sam catches him by the shoulder. “Dude, wait.”

“No,” Dean says, “I should. I should go. Cas has to get back to work and–”

“Dinner. Come on, nothing big, just you and me and Bobby. And Cas.”

“And me,” Jessica says, though she looks confused.

“Jess– I think it’d be best if you–”

“No, Sam. You’ve been acting weirdly for the past three days, and now you want to go for dinner with the character witnesses from your first case, and, and, I’m worried. I want to come along.”

“Jess, please. I’ll explain everything, I promise. Just give me one night. Dean? One night.”

Dean looks at Sam, eyes guarded. Then he turns, eyes seeking out Castiel. “Okay,” he says, “but I’m buying.”

“Jess?”

She presses her lips together. “You called him Dean.”

“I– what?”

“You called him Dean, just now. The defendant. Jimmy.”

“No, I didn’t.” But Sam races through the last few moments, heartbeat stammering, and– oh. Oh, he did.

“But didn’t you have a brother–”

“I’ll explain everything later,” Sam says. “I will. Please.”

Jess looks at Dean. Dean looks at his shoes. “Fine,” she says. “Go out for dinner. I’m taking the car.” She kisses him on the cheek, glances at Dean once more, and then leaves.

“You’re gonna have to tell her now,” Dean says, gaze still on the floor.

“Yeah. I know.”

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to–”

“I know.”

“Cas was right. Yesterday, I mean. I didn’t– I wasn’t trying to screw you over. By getting caught.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “We’ll get out of here, I swear, and you won’t hear from me ever again.”

“Dean,” Sam says, “that’s not what I want.”

Dean looks up at that. “Sorry?”

“I don’t want you out of my life. You’re my brother, Dean. I want to go out to dinner with you and Bobby and Cas, and I want to hear about the last six years. I miss you, okay? What I said before, over the phone, that wasn’t– I didn’t mean that.”

Dean laughs, but it rings hollow. “Come on, Sammy. Sam. You’re getting married; you shouldn’t have to deal with your fuck-up of a brother.”

 “Well, maybe I want to.”

Dean glances up to Sam’s eyes, then away. “Whatever. We’re hitting the road tomorrow morning anyway, shouldn’t have been here in the first place. But maybe– I’ll call. Or something.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Yeah, I’d like that. Come on, let’s go for dinner.”

“I’ll get Bobby,” Dean says, and he kind of smiles.

They keep up the act until they’re in the Impala, but then Bobby lets out this big sigh of relief and says, “It’s good to see you, Sam.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. It surprises him, how nice it feels to have Bobby acknowledging him, recognizing him. Calling him by name. “It’s been too long, Bobby.”

They’re crowded into the backseat together, Sam’s knees pressed against the back of the driver’s seat. He leans over, thinking about maybe giving Bobby a half-hug or something, but–

“You try to give me a hug, I’ll shoot out your kneecaps,” Bobby grumbles, and there’s the mean old drunk he knows. Sam laughs, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Cas smile.

“Thank God that’s over with,” says Dean. The tension in his shoulders is gone. He catches Sam’s eye in the rearview mirror, and he smiles. “Sam, I owe you one.”

“It was McKelvie, not me. And Cas, Bobby, you guys were awesome.”

“This ain’t my first rodeo,” Bobby says. God, he’s exactly the same. Same trucker cap, just a little more dirt around the edges. Some things, Sam supposes, are timeless.

They eat at a cheap diner, like they always do. Dean orders the same bacon cheeseburger that he always does. He sits next to Cas in the booth again, close enough that their elbows bump. Sam’s starting to build a theory about them, but it feels far-fetched. They’re not… Dean’s not…

“You fix up that business in Alabama?” Dean asks around a handful of fries.

“Eh, turned out messier than expected,” says Bobby. “Had to send a couple other hunters for back-up. Tara and Irv, Garth too.”

“Aw, Garth? Seriously?” Dean makes a face. “You’re kidding. Dude’s afraid of ghosts.”

Sam laughs. “A hunter that’s–”

“He’s new,” Bobby cuts in. “And he’s learning.”

“Yeah, whatever. He’s all right. I mean, we’ve worked a couple jobs together, and he’s all right. A little sentimental.” Dean nudges Cas. “He gave me back-up on that werewolf gig in September, remember?”

Cas squints. “Yes, right. I remember.”

“Do you, uh,” Sam says. He clears his throat. “Do you hunt too? Castiel?”

“Oh, no. I’m no hunter.” Cas picks up the ketchup bottle, shakes it a few times. “I help with the research, sometimes. The lore is interesting. Your father kept a very detailed journal.”

Sam guesses he shouldn’t be surprised that Cas has read Dad’s journal. Even still. “Yeah, uh. He was good at his job.”

He meets Dean’s eye for a moment, and Dean looks away. “I keep our apartment warded, of course. I mean. Cas knows how to protect himself. He’s good with guns. I wouldn’t leave him on his own.”

“What do you mean, warded?”

“Well, like, Devil’s Traps under the carpets and shit. You know.”

“No,” Sam says. He looks to Bobby, then back to Dean. “Devil’s Traps. Those are for keeping out demons, right? Since when do you fight demons?”

Dean looks less certain now. He and Bobby exchange glances. “Uh. Just, you know. Lower-level stuff. Nothing too fancy.”

“That’s still, I mean, that’s dangerous,” Sam says.

Bobby picks at his fries. “A lot’s happened in the six years you’ve been gone, Sam.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I’m getting that.”

The tension hangs in the air for a long moment. Cas is back to reorganizing the sugar packets.

Then Dean straightens up, plasters on a grin, and says, “Vampires, for example. Dude. Vampires exist.”

Sam clenches his fork a little tighter. “Vampires? Really? Since when?”

“Found out about a year ago. They’re nasty, the fangs especially.”

“How do you kill them?”

“Chop off the head. It’s kind of gross at first, but you get used to it.”

“Vampires,” Sam says. “Huh. At least it puts the machetes to use.”

God, he thinks, this is not the kind of conversation Sam-the-law-student should be having. But the dinner is easier after that, Dean slipping back into his usual demeanor. He takes the check at the end of the meal, puts down a credit card billed to Nigel Tufnel.

It scares Sam, how familiar this feels. How much he– well, how much he misses it. He came to Stanford to get away from Dad, from endless motels and endless hunts and arguments soaked in alcohol. But he didn’t mean to leave Dean behind.

“Let’s go for a drink,” he says, because Dean is leaving in the morning.

“I’m getting too old for these late nights,” says Bobby. “Drop me off at the nearest motel, will you?”

So then it’s just Sam and Cas and Dean, and Sam still feels a little weird about Cas but he likes this dynamic. He thinks he could get used to seeing Cas at Dean’s side. Best friends, that’s what Dean said. Sam doesn’t understand it, but his opinion probably doesn’t matter anymore. He gave up that right when he stormed out six years ago.

“So what do you do, Cas?” Sam asks, when they’re settled on barstools with beers in their hands.

“I work at a gas station.” Cas fits his lips around the bottle and takes a long drink. Dean watches, and then he licks his lips and raises his own beer.

“A gas station.”

“In Rexford, Idaho.”

“It’s not glamorous,” Dean says, “but for some reason unbeknownst to me, he actually likes it.”

“I’m doing a service,” Cas says, in the tone of someone who’s had to explain this too many times. “I’m helping people.”

“Helping people buy magazines and corn nuts, maybe.” But Dean is smiling, and Cas is smiling, and something about it feels– affectionate. No, that’s the wrong word. Sam can’t figure it out, but there’s a light in Dean’s eyes that he hasn’t seen in years.

Dean clears his throat. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

After he leaves, there’s a beat of awkward silence.

“I have to use the restroom too,” Cas says abruptly, and follows after Dean.

Something presses at the back of Sam’s mind, as he watches Cas leave.

 _Our apartment_ , he realizes. That’s what Dean said. _I keep our apartment warded._

And then it all falls together, too quickly.

When Cas and Dean come back with ruffled hair and rumpled collars, Sam knows. Dean knocks back a shot of tequila with a smile on his face and Sam just stares.

“Dean,” he says, “is Castiel your boyfriend?”

Dean’s smile fades. He looks at Sam, and then at Cas, and there’s a flush creeping up his neck.

“Oh my God,” Sam says. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“I need some air,” Dean says, and then he’s shoving through the crowds and out the door.

Typical Dean, avoiding confrontation when things get personal.

Sam looks at Castiel. Castiel, who drove from three states over to be here.

“Yes,” Cas says. “In answer to your question. Dean wouldn’t use that word, but yes.”

“So you’re– I mean, and he’s– um. How long have you two, that is, been together?”

“Three years.”

Sam’s too drunk for this. He feels lightheaded. Three years, three years and Dean didn’t tell him. Couldn’t tell him?

“I’m going to see if he’s all right,” Cas says, pushing away from the bar.

“I’ll– I’ll come with you.” Sam digs out a few bills and leaves them with their empty glasses. He follows Cas out of the bar.

Dean is on the curb outside, trying to light a cigarette with shaking hands. “Shit,” he mutters, flicking the lighter.

“Let me,” Cas says. He steadies Dean’s hands, cradles the flame.

“It’s cold out here,” Dean says, but it’s a lame excuse.

Sam stands a few feet away. He doesn’t know if Dean wants him here. “I didn’t know you smoked,” he says.

“I don’t,” Dean says. He takes a long drag. “Well, sometimes, I mean. When I’m stressed.”

“I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s okay,” Dean says, waving him off. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I wish you had.”

Cas hovers at Dean’s side, protective almost. Sam doesn’t like that. Why would Dean need protecting from Sam? Sam doesn’t mean to– he’s not angry.

“So I, um.” The neon sign of the bar casts an eerie orange light over Dean’s profile. “Cas and I. We’re together.”

“Yeah, I got that. Dean, I didn’t know you–”

“Liked guys?” Dean snaps. “Well, I do. Big fucking deal.”

“No, that’s not what I was saying. I didn’t think you did commitment. You’ve never–”

“Yeah, well, it’s different now.” Dean offers Cas the cigarette, but he shakes his head.

Sam thinks about how changed Dean is, how much kinder, how much gentler. Dean has fewer hard edges than he used to.

“The guys thing too, though. That is new.” Sam laughs.

Dean glances at him, eyes sharp with worry, but then they soften, and he laughs too.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. How long have you known?”

Dean shrugs a shoulder, exhales smoke. “Ten years, maybe?”

“Ten– ten _years_? But you never–”

“What was I supposed to do? I was supposed to be– Dad wanted me to be– I had more important things to worry about. Dad wouldn’t have let me come on hunts if he’d known I was getting fucked under the bleachers by Johnny Gonzalez after school,” Dean says, and it’s thick with bitterness.

“Dean.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Dean says. “I like girls too. I’m, uh, bi. It means–”

“I know what bisexuality is,” Sam says. “Jess is bi. We’re part of the GSA at Stanford.”

“Oh.” Dean looks up. “That’s, that’s good.”

“Dean, I don’t care if you like guys. I just care that you’re happy.” He shakes his head. “I’m a little angry, I guess, that you didn’t tell me you and Cas were together. That you felt like you had to hide it.”

“I was working up to it,” Dean says. “I swear, I was. It’s just.” He drops the cigarette, grinds it into the concrete with the toe of his boot. “I dunno.”

“Three days, Dean? Three days you’ve been here and you couldn’t just say, ‘Hey, I’m in a relationship with this really great guy–’” Sam nods to Cas, who smiles a little, “‘–and I just wanted you to know, because you’re my brother and you care about my life.’ I told you about Jess.”

“It’s been a busy few days,” Dean says.

“A busy few years, I guess.”

Dean shrugs. “You had your life, I had mine.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I don’t want that anymore. I want you to come to my wedding, dammit. And I want to be there for yours, if– if you. You know.”

Dean looks at Cas. There’s that look in his eyes again, that look Sam couldn’t make sense of before. He gets it now.

“I guess,” Dean says, “I guess that would be all right.”

“I’m gonna have to tell Jess, anyway. After today, she’s not going to leave it alone.”

“You mean– about hunting? Everything?”

“Yeah. It’s probably time, anyway. She has a right to know what kind of person she’s marrying.”

“It won’t change anything,” Dean says. “She loves you. You’re a good person, Sam. You’re good for her.”

“You think so?” Sam smiles, and then Dean smiles, and then things aren’t so bad anymore. There’s less tension in the air. Cas’s hands, curled into fists at his sides, finally relax.

“Yeah, I know so. Come on, speaking of, let’s get you back home.”

So they go back to the car. From the backseat, Sam sees Dean reach for Cas’s hand. In the darkness, the streetlights casting strange reflections through the windows, Sam feels oddly at peace. Dean is here in Palo Alto, and for the first time, that’s okay.

Sam leans his head against the cool glass of the window. “Does Dad know?”

There’s a long pause, long enough that Sam sits up and repeats the question.

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly, “he knows.”

“When did you–”

“About two years ago. We’d been hunting, um, hunting separately mostly, for a couple of years at that point, and–”

“Why?”

Dean meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, then looks away. “I don’t know. After you left, I got angry at him. Really angry. Took off for a couple of months, hunted on my own. We never really stayed together after that.”

Sam thinks about that for a bit. All this time, he’d been making assumptions about the kind of person his brother was.

“Anyway, so, two years ago, I, um. I introduced him to Cas.”

“How’d he take it?”

Cas laughs. It’s unexpected, because he’s been so quiet throughout all of this.

“Not well, then?” Sam tries to catch Dean’s eye in the mirror, but Dean keeps his eyes on the road.

“That’s an understatement,” Cas says.

“He got angry,” Dean says. “Furious. We got into this huge blowout fight, worse than the one you had before you left. He. Um. He punched me a couple of times. And then he stormed out.”

Sam thinks about the way Dean’s hands shook, trying to light the cigarette. He wonders what “a couple of times” means, really.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Haven’t you guys talked since?”

There’s a long, long silence. Cas says, quietly, “Dean. Why don’t you drop me off at the motel? You two need to talk.”

Sam doesn’t like the sound of that. There’s this funny pressure on his chest, like he can’t breathe right anymore.

He waits while Dean drives to the motel, waits while Dean parks under the streetlamps.

“I’ll see you later?” Dean asks. Sam feels a strange need to avert his eyes. There is something so intimate about the way Dean talks to Cas, something so tender. He feels like he’s intruding on his own brother’s life.

Dean glances back at Sam, and then kisses Cas, quick and self-conscious. Cas gets out of the car, and Dean watches him until he opens the motel room door.

“You should come up to shotgun,” Dean says. “There’s something else I should tell you.”

Sam takes Cas’s seat, and then Dean starts the car and pulls back onto the open road.

Sam says, “Dean. Where’s Dad?”

Dean swallows. He glances out the window. “It’s a long story.”

“Is he dead? Oh my God, Dean, you should have called me, I’m your brother, I–”

“He’s not dead.” Dean sucks in a shaky breath. “Okay, look. After the fight, Dad went on a hunting trip in Jericho, California. And he just. He disappeared. Cas and I went looking, we tried everything. Then things started escalating. More demons, more omens.”

“The thing that killed Mom?”

“The demon.” Dean’s hands clench on the wheel. “The next time I saw Dad, he was being worn like a prom dress.”

“You mean–”

“Yeah. He’s gone, Sammy. Long gone. For about a year now.”

“And the demon?”

“We’re tracking him. We’re getting closer, I swear. I keep thinking– Christ, I keep thinking maybe we can save him. Dad. He treated me like shit and it’s all I can think about. I can’t lose him too, not to this demon.”

Sam is going to be sick. He imagines it, his father choking on the smoke of that monster. Oh, God.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” Dean says. “I didn’t want to drag you back in. You’ve got something good here, Sam. Me and Dad and all the monsters, we’re dirt. You deserve better.”

“You should have called me when Dad first went missing.”

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, I had Cas for backup. It’s not like I went through this alone.”

In spite of everything Dean’s just told him, something about that catches Sam the wrong way.

“He’s been good to you, huh.”

“Yeah, he has.” Dean pulls onto the highway, wide and empty at this time of night. Sam doesn’t know where they’re going, but driving has always calmed Dean down.

“You love him?”

Dean glances at Sam. “’Course I do. With everything I’ve got.” He pauses. “God knows why he sticks around. I mean, the last two years have dragged us both through the mud. He’s only here because I need him to be. I don’t know why he didn’t give it up ages ago.”

“Yeah, you do. You know why.”

Dean wipes a hand over his face. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The radio murmurs static. Sam thinks about the wedding, five weeks from now. “I want to help,” he says. “Once I tell Jess, I’m going to help you and Cas and Bobby save Dad.”

“Sam–”

“No, Dean, it’s my decision. I’ve had six years to straighten out my priorities.”

Dean sighs. “This is why I couldn’t bring myself to call. You weren’t meant for this shitshow of a life, Sam.”

“And you were?”

“That’s not the– look. You’re going to want to start a family with Jess. I’m not having you risk your life if it means risking that too.”

“I already have a family, Dean. I’m going to help, okay?”

A long silence, one that sounds like surrender. Dean nods. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll talk to Cas.”

“And, um. If things go okay with Jess– that is, if she doesn’t run away screaming, maybe you can meet her. For real. As my brother.”

“You want us to stay in town a few more days?”

Sam looks at his brother. “Yeah, I do. Maybe I can get to know Cas, too. For real, now that I know he’s… Yeah.”

“Okay,” Dean says. “Okay.”

Dean drives him to his apartment. Sam thinks about leaning across the seat to hug his brother, but he doesn’t.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Sam says, “but I’m really glad you got busted for that grave desecration.”

Dean grins. “Me too, Sammy.” The worry lines in his face are looking more like laugh lines now.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Sam says. He stands on the steps of the apartment building until Dean drives away. Then he goes inside, kicks off his shoes, and crawls into bed beside Jess.

“Mmm, hey,” Jess says. She rolls over, burying her face in Sam’s shirt. He puts his arms around her. “You good?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m good.”

 

 

 

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading.
> 
> This piece is the first part in a series. I plan on writing a prequel detailing the development of Dean and Cas's relationship, over a three year period. I also plan on writing a sequel, with plot and things. We'll see how those go. It will probably be some time before they're finished; with this one I completed and edited it before even beginning to post. I started in December; it's now March. It will be a while before I post further pieces in this 'verse, but keep an eye out.

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted on [tumblr](http://shootingstarcas.tumblr.com/post/112651262906/bloody-but-unbowed-part-1-4-deancas-samjess). If you have questions, feel free to message me there.
> 
> Thank you to [Onja](http://appleblossomdean.tumblr.com/) and [Tasha](http://kraziiisme.tumblr.com/) for editing. You two are so wonderful.
> 
> Next chapter on Thursday.  
> I apologize in advance for the increasingly muddy timeline of this story. I am not a huge fan of writing actual plot.


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